


Curiosity

by towblerone



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towblerone/pseuds/towblerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward’s curious about the relationship between Vane and his quartermaster. Edward’s POV (somewhat). Based off a dream I had once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written in third person, but the character in question is still the reader, even if it says “she” instead of “you”.

"Your Jackdaw handles nice. Pinched her from the Spanish, was it?”

Edward glanced at Thatch, and he felt a proud warmth in his chest. Only a day ago, he had been wheezing with laughter at his brig’s name, and now he was praising it, as light as it was.

"Aye," he replied, "in the midst of a hurricane."

"Just before the Treasure Fleet was smashed against the shore," Adewale chimed in. Thatch raised an eyebrow at that.

"Was the haul aboard as rich as men are sayin’?" he asked.

"A thousand times that. I reckon," Edward said, "a million pounds worth of Reales were sunk that day."

Thatch grinned, no doubt picturing such vast riches in his mind.

"Devil love a hurricane!" he said with a mirthful laugh, "Might have a dive there one day; see what we can rummage up."

"Diving them wrecks would be a nice change of pace for us," Adewale said, "No need for violent acts against merchants and such."

Thatch looked at him.

"Well! That’s some soft talk, coming from a pirate." He paused, pondering his next words. "And as it happens, I mostly agree. We’ll save the clashin’ of cutlasses for the military, and them that get in our way."

The conversation ended, and Edward returned his attention back to the sea. It was calm, and the winds were gentle. For now.

They were in search of El Arca del Maestro, a Spanish galleon that they would be using to set up defenses for Nassau’s harbors. It would be tough, yes, but Edward has faith in Thatch’s advice and his beloved Jackdaw. They’d get this galleon.

—

The winds had picked up from a gentle breeze to strong gusts. Rain pattered on the wooden deck of the Jackdaw. It would seem a storm was brewing, and they’d be caught in the middle of it presently.

"Easy as she goes," Thatch warned, "No tellin’ what you may find out here."

"Like staring through a waterfall," Adewale cursed.

Edward scoffed at both of them. He addressed them with a haughty tone.

"Don’t soil your breeches, lads. I got this."

He pulled out his trusty spyglass, and after a moment of squinting through it and trying to see past the rain, he spotted their target and set out to follow them discreetly.

—

As they followed the galleon closely, another brigantine began to slide into view. Its sails were wider than the Jackdaw’s, but other than that, the two ships seemed to be quite similar in size.

Thatch’s eyes narrowed.

"Charles Vane," he growled. "He’s as reckless as they come."

"An old friend of yours?"

"Not a man I’d call a friend," he explained, "But we’ve been doing this kind of work for so long, I can’t help but respect the man."

Edward mused on his words. This Vane man must not be very pleasant, but if Thatch respected him, at least, perhaps he could learn a thing or two from his expertise.

Thatch continued.

"His quartermaster, though, she’s far more reasonable than he is."

Edward nodded, but his mind caught one word.

"She?" he asked. "Surely you meant ‘he’."

His former mentor glared back at him, as if he was wondering if Edward was really stupid enough to question his words.

"I know what I said, Kenway," he said in a dangerously low voice, "His quartermaster’s a woman."

How…unusual.

It wasn’t that Edward doubted her capabilities - not that he’d ever met her before. It was more that he was taken by surprise. It wasn’t often you’d see a woman aboard working aboard a ship at all, let alone being a quartermaster.

He admitted, he was curious.

"A woman, eh? What can you tell me about her?" he asked Thatch.

The man smiled, and his face was relaxed. He must have been somewhat fond of her.

"She’s a nice enough lass," he said. He stopped to wipe some of the rain from his forehead. "If I hadn’t seen her in a brawl before, I’d have said she was too nice for this line of work. She’s got a mean right hook," he said with a deep chuckle that told Edward that Thatch knew this from experience.

Quite daring, she must have been. Then again, Thatch had always been kinder to the ladies.

"Smart, too," Thatch continued. "Smarter between the two of ‘em, if I had to choose…"

Edward sensed something along the lines of “but” coming, and come it did.

"…the only thing that ain’t smart about her is that she’s fiercely loyal to that bastard of a captain. God knows why."

Edward had an idea why. But he didn’t want to jump to any uncomfortable conclusions. For all he knew, they could be related.

"How old is she?" Edward asked, hoping his questions weren’t suspicious. He wasn’t…interested. Just curious.

"Can’t say fer sure, but she’s a young lass, that much I can tell."

Their conversation was cut off as Vane’s ship, the Ranger, began firing. The cannons hit a few times, but didn’t do much to pierce the galleon’s thick armor. El Arca del Maestro quickly retaliated with mortar fire.

They repeated this a few times, but eventually, the Ranger retreated.

"Charles Vane, slinkin’ off with his tail between his legs. That’s good news for us."

As the Ranger shrank from his vision, several small ships began to swarm. They were outnumbered, yes, but again, the ships were small, and looked like easy prey.

They’d have to forget the galleon for now.

—

A few months after was the first time he’d met Charles Vane and his quartermaster.

It was mid-January, and the climate was milder, but still balmy. He’d been writing a letter home to Caroline when a deep and weathered voice interrupted his thoughts.

"So this is the new Libertalia, eh?"

Vane wore his leather coat and his wild brown hair like a badge. He was a rough man, Edward could tell straight away. Not only by his deep baritone voice, but by the dangerous look in his eye. His clothes were simple, dirty, and yellowed with age and stains, but they suited him somehow.

He was flanked by two others. One was a man, perhaps a few years younger than Vane himself. He had light hair that was graying already, partially hidden behind a yellow bandana. He wore an ornate orange vest, and he had a myriad of jewelry strung about himself. His outfit was rather fancy for a pirate. This must be the Calico Jack Edward had been told about.

The second figure was a woman. Must be the quartermaster he’d heard so much about. She was at least a head shorter than Vane. She held herself proudly and with confidence. She wore simple clothing: a white, loose-fitting blouse, gray trousers, and a pair of black leather boots.

Thatch was right, she was quite young. Looked to be at least a decade younger than Vane, so she was closer to his own age. But still, she was rather attractive.

Edward turned his attention back to Charles, who was taking in a deep breath of the Nassau air. His face scrunched up with displeasure.

"Stinks the same as every other squat I’ve robbed this past year," he said with a smirk. Jack gave a snickered at that, but stopped to mock Edward.

"Oi oi, why the long face?" he said. His face became comically sad. "You fallin’ in love?"

Edward chuckled to himself and shook his head. He easily conjured a comeback in his head.

"With your blouse," he retorted.

Edward stood, and Vane’s lovely quartermaster gave him a long, analytical stare. He looked back at her, but judging by the way Charles furrowed his brows, his eyes had overstayed their welcome.

"You’re welcome to Nassau, gents…and lady. Everyone is that does their fair share."

Charles scoffed at that.

"Fair share? What is this, a fucking monastery?"

Edward stared him down, greatly annoyed by his dismissive attitude. Charles was not one to back down, of course, so he returned the stare with equal, if not greater intensity.

Jack, sensing the rising tension, cleared his throat.

"We was led to believe that Nassau was a place where men did as they pleased," he said. Jack was certainly the more pleasant of the two.

Edward was a bit disappointed that the quartermaster hasn’t said a word yet, but as a strong figure began to thump down the short set of stairs behind them, he hoped that may change soon.

"Save keepin’ others from doin’ the same, aye."

Thatch had arrived, and his thick, unruly beard cascaded down his front. It wasn’t the first time Edward had seen him with his beard, but it must have been for them.

"Captain Thatch, as I live and breathe," Charles said in a tone that was neither friendly nor hostile. "And what is this magnificent muzzle you’ve cultivated, eh?"

Thatch’s composure didn’t break, not even in the slightest.

"Why fly a black flag when a black beard will do?"

Finally, the quartermaster cracked a smile at that. It was just as lovely as the rest of her. When Thatch saw her smiling, he couldn’t help but do the same.

"What brings you lot this far North?" he asked as he walked closer to stand by Edward.

Charles was silent for but a moment, but then he clasped his hands together and rubbed them.

"Word is, Cuban governor himself is fixin’ to receive a mess of gold from a nearby fort," he told, "until then, it’s just sitting there…itching to be took.”

"Governor Torres himself, eh?" Edward said, musing on the prospect. "Sounds promising."

Thatch eyed both Edward and Vane, switching between the two, before he shrugged it off and grabbed a bottle of rum by the neck. He held it out for Charles.

"Welcome to Nassau, Captain Vane," he said. Charles took the bottle with a grateful gesture and downed a good helping in one gulp. Thatch nodded to Jack. "Mister Rackham."

As Charles and Jack began to disperse, Thatch held out his arms welcomingly.

"Ah, lass," he sighed, beckoning her forward. She giggled and gracefully closed the distance between them to meet him in a one-armed hug. He held her tightly and laughed.

He introduced her to Edward, giving him her name.

"Lass, this is Edward Kenway."

"Ah, your little protege."

Finally, she spoke! Edward didn’t know why he was so keen to know about her, but he was. Perhaps it was just his curiosity getting the best of him.

Her voice was an octave deeper than he’s expected, coming from such a little thing, but it was nonetheless smooth, sultry, and pleasing to the ear.

"The one and only," Thatch said, a tad embarrassed.

She looked Edward up and down, nodding.

"A pleasure," she said, holding out her hand. Edward took it, and discovered she had a firm handshake.

"Likewise," he said.

From across the small open room of the tavern, Charles called out to her and held up a fresh bottle of rum.

She smiled sweetly, then went off to join her captain.

Thatch was right. Almost too nice.

—

He’d only known Charles for a week now, but Edward had come to the conclusion that he was the meanest and most ruthless man he’d ever met. He quite often smacked Calico Jack around like it was a game of some sort. Edward almost pitied poor Jack. Almost.

The girl, on the other hand, seemed to have a cool-headed personality that balanced out Charles’ fire quite well.

She had her limits, however. They were mainly tested when words were said against her captain. Once again, Thatch was right when he’d said she was fiercely loyal to Charles.

Edward had been sitting at the foot of a tree just outside The Old Avery on a fine day when he’d first witnessed her losing her patience.

She sat at the bar, drinking rum, while Jack and a few others of what Edward assumed to be part of Vane’s crew sat at another table getting pissed. There wasn’t a soul in sight, other than who was mentioned. She didn’t pay any mind to them at all, until she heard Charles mentioned in their conversation with scorn in their voices.

He didn’t catch the whole conversation, but he’d heard mutiny in it at least once. The girl snapped her head up the minute that word entered her ears, and she looked ready for murder.

Edward was interested to see what she would do. Would she storm over and begin making demands?

She did not. She sat silently. They were drunk enough that they hadn’t even noticed her sitting in plain sight, so she listened.

After a few minutes, she seemed to have gotten enough information to be satisfied, and she stood, presumably to warn Charles. This, of course, attracted their attention.

"Shit, she was here the whole time!" one man said. They were truly not the brightest men. She stopped, momentarily, but then continued, and began to walk faster.

"Well, stop ‘er then," Jack slurred, incapable of even standing. They were all quite drunk, and to be honest, Edward wasn’t sure why she even took their "plans" for mutiny seriously. But, he supposed, the cautious path was always the safer one.

One man made to lunge at her, swinging his meaty fists, but she easily dodged him and he fell to the floor. He did not get up.

Her patience was wearing very thin, Edward would see that quite clearly. He thought about getting up to assist, but she proved to be able to handle herself.

When another burly man attempted to strike her, she blocked the hit. He was much larger than she was, so the force of the hit overwhelmed her for a split second and she skidded backward, but she recovered quickly and sent her knee flying into his groin. He doubled over, and Edward cringed. That had to have hurt.

Only one man, besides Jack, remained. This man, however, had a knife. Pirate or not, it was a coward’s move, pulling a knife on a lady. Edward didn’t want to interfere where he wasn’t needed, so he sat and watched, but was ready to spring into action at any moment, should she lose the advantage.

The man swayed, affected by drink. This could have been a blessing or a curse. A blessing in that he was unfocused and impaired, but a curse in that he was now far less predictable.

He swung the knife in a wide diagonal sweep. The first time, he caught her skin with the sharp blade and opened her palm. A small rope of blood splashed onto the wooden floor of the tavern, but her face remained stoic.

She dodged easily the second time. She grabbed her opportunity and took him by the wrist. She twisted his arm violently, and he dropped the knife to the ground. She placed her foot on his back and kicked him away, watching as he fell into a heap.

While they were all hammered, it was still quite an impressive sight to see her standing victoriously before the three passed out men. She stared at Jack, who held up his hands in surrender. His eyes widened, and he began to run as quickly as his drunken legs would carry him.

She began to give chase, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Her hair flew around her face like a whip as she turned, ready to shout her head off at whoever dared to stop her, but she silenced herself when she saw it was Charles himself.

When Edward saw him, he quietly shifted into a small patch of long grass that hid him quite well.

"Oh…Charles…" she said, avoiding his eyes. "I can explain…"

Surprisingly, Charles said nothing. It was as if, in that moment, their personalities had switched. He adopted her icy-cold confidence, while she had become the hellcat, ready to burst.

When Charles saw the gash on her hand, he frowned. He went to the bartender, who was quite used to bar fights, and slapped a few coins down.

"Whiskey bottle."

Once he had the alcohol in hand, he tore the cork off using his teeth and gestured for her to give him his hand. She knew what he was about to do, and no doubt knew it was for the best, but she tensed as he held her hand in his own.

As he tipped the bottle and the drink hit her wound, she yelped, then gritted her teeth and hissed in pain. At first, she flinched and tried to yank her hand away, but he held her wrist tightly. He placed the now partially empty bottle on a table. His left hand still had her wrist, and with his free hand, he loosened the faded yellow ascot around his neck and removed it.

"Charles, no!" she said with a grimace. He gave her a look of exasperation.

"Relax, it’s clean."

The tension in her arms slowly seeped out of her, and she calmed. He wrapped the ascot around her wound, and Edward could see he was trying to be careful not to hurt her.

As he began to tie the ascot, the blood starting to seep into and ruin it, he glanced up at her, though her eyes still avoided his own. He took her chin in his large hand and forced her to face him.

"Tell me what happened."

His voice was firm, but gentle, and Edward could tell this was a tone he saved only for her, and only in private. Anyone else and he’d be baring his teeth and shouting his head off.

The girl sighed deeply, as if she were afraid she would anger him.

"I was having a drink, like I said I was going to," she said with hesitation. "I waited for you to show up."

"And?"

"And I heard Jack and those men," she stopped to point at the three men she easily defended herself against, "…talking. About you."

"What did they say about me?" Charles’ voice was laced with underlying tones of suspicion and understanding.

"They…" she broke off with a huff of breath before continuing, "they were planning mutiny, Charles."

His hands still clasped around her own, but he looked over at the comatose pirates on the floor and his upper lip curled into a sneer. He swung his head every which way, likely looking for Jack.

Charles’ fiery temper was beginning to creep back into him; not slowly, but fast, as if it were flooding his insides.

"I’ll gut those fucking bastards." He snarled. "Starting with that damn Rackham!"

His hands clutched at her own, his grip ever-tightening, and she whimpered in pain as the pressure on the cut increased. When Charles heard her, his head whipped back to focus on her and he loosened his fingers.

She smiled up at him as if to let him know she was fine, and she knew he hadn’t done that on purpose. He offered no verbal apology, but what Charles did next was worth far more than any words could have expressed.

He brought her injured hand to his lips and placed tiny, sweet kisses to the back of her hand.

Ah, so Edward’s earlier suspicions were now confirmed: Charles and his Quartermaster were lovers.

The girl’s eyes fluttered and her breath hitched - it was audible even from where Edward hid - as Charles migrated his lips up the path of her arm, continuing up her neck, until he reached his destination at the corner of her mouth. His lips had barely touched her skin when she angled her head to kiss him full on the lips.

It was a tender, but passionate kiss. Their mouths moved in a practiced unity Edward had never seen before. It was as though they had ceased being separate beings and merged together to form one mind. They fit so perfectly together that he was beginning to wonder if any two lovers could be a more perfect a fit for each other.

He could tell that Charles would not kiss just any woman like this. The girl was something special. She was precious to him, and it displayed a side of Charles he thought he would never see.

To be honest, Edward did not know why he remained there, watching these two lovers in their embrace. Now that he had this information, he had no need to stay. But he couldn’t tear his eyes off the spectacle before him.

Charles shifted his attention, and she moaned as he licked and sucked at the sensitive flesh at the crook of her neck.

But, as her vision was now unobstructed by Charles’ head, her eyes locked onto Edward’s almost at the exact instant she opened them. Those large eyes grew larger in surprise, and she sighed.

"Enjoying the show, Mr. Kenway?" she said with a roll of her eyes. Her voice projected across the moderate distance between them.

Charles promptly removed his face from where it was comfortably nuzzled into her. He followed his paramour’s eyes and found Edward. His eyes were dark with warning, and he snarled menacingly at the blonde man, clearly displeased at their relationship’s discovery.

Edward swore under his breath. He should have left long ago.

Ah, well…curiosity killed the cat.


End file.
